


Incipit

by the_morningstar616 (diabla616)



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-02
Updated: 2012-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-01 00:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diabla616/pseuds/the_morningstar616
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bored, reckless and a little drunk, a young Sebastian Vael shames his family and shatters hopes of a powerful political alliance by seducing the bodyguard of an important Magister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incipit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MsBarrows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBarrows/gifts).



> Written for the peopleofthedas community on dreamwidth as part of the 'sugar and spice swap'.
> 
> The title, for those who are interested means 'It begins'.

_"Sebastian_ , hurry up! Your father won't thank you if he's late!"

"On my way mother."

Sebastian often wonders if he sounds as mulish and well, _bored_ , as he feels when talking to his parents. He's fairly sure, however, that his mother would soon scold him if he did.

"Make sure to pack that, I may have need of it. Yes, yes, that too. Oh, come _on_ girl, use the sense the Maker gave you and fold things!"

When he arrives in his mother's quarters the serving-girls all look as harried as he feels just from overhearing his mother's fussing. The two younger girls, unused to the princess' eccentricities, wait nervously at the edge of the room, looking for all of Thedas like they want nothing more than to flee at their first opportunity, and even his mother's housekeeper, Sebastian's childhood nurse, appears somewhat overwhelmed. Sebastian is amused, perhaps more so even when he realises that everything they need has probably been ready for hours.

His mother never could travel light.

"Oh, Sebastian, thank the Maker, you're ready at last. Be a good lad and summon the carriage. I think we're ready to leave."

A diplomatic visit to Tevinter. Even to him the idea seems ridiculous.

Despite his own disinterest in the subject Sebastian has taken in enough political sense, growing up in Starkhaven's most powerful family, to know that there _is_ no diplomatic link between the two nations. Tevinter needs no allies, and Starkhaven has closer states from which to choose.

This voyage, then, is for another reason entirely.

Before leaving, Sebastian stows a small flask of his father's finest Starkhaven whisky in his pack.

He won't need much, he tells himself, just a wee nip to take the edge off his boredom.

\--*--

Minrathous is dusty and the heat sticks to Sebastian like a second skin in the narrow streets. He hates the place on sight, and the hasty arrival of a party of slaves sent to greet his family does nothing to ease his mood. Perhaps it is because none of it has ever been destined for him, but he has always hated the over-the-top formality which accompanies money in Starkhaven.

The citizens in Minrathous eye them suspiciously as the royal party progresses through the Via Principal.

_Diplomatic visit indeed, we're here on show_ , Sebastian thinks.

The slaves in their party pay little heed to anything but their task. Unnerved, Sebastian spends several minutes of their journey attempting conversation with a slender dark-haired elf, who responds with nothing more than one-word answers and nervous glances at the other slaves.

He's contemplating talking to one of the other slaves instead when his mother notices.

"Sebastian! Leave the poor elves alone," she snaps, "they are not permitted to talk to you."

Even more unsettling, he thinks with a frown, to keep silent slaves.

"We are not in Starkhaven any more Sebastian," his father reminds him, "please be respectful of the culture here."

\--*--

Their journey, though uncomfortable, is thankfully short. In less than an hour they arrive at a large ornate building. The Magister's residence is beautiful, but forbidding.

It could put Starkhaven's best castles to shame, Sebastian thinks, but he wouldn't live there.

A black iron gate lifts to allow them access, and once inside the marble-lined hallway the Magister himself appears to welcome them.

He's unremarkable save for the staff he carries: A small, ageing man, who was probably homely at best even in youth. The elf who follows him, however, is another story altogether.

He's tall for an elf, almost matching Sebastian in height, and whipcord thin. He carries the tan of all those who have lived some time in Tevinter, contrasted starkly with pure white hair, but the most remarkable thing about him is his skin. Lines of shining white form intricate patterns across all of his body which is visible, and seem to almost pulse with every breath the elf takes.

Sebastian is almost glad, for once, for the formality of Danarius' address, which allows him ample time to admire the fascinating creature before they are dismissed. The elf, of course, follows the Magister out from the hallway.

\--*--

The bar he arrives in is dimly-lit and the patrons there surly and unwelcoming, but it serves whisky, and right now that is Sebastian's chief concern.

The bartender, an elderly man with a shock of black hair and a deep frown, gestures to a seat then proceeds to ignore him for several minutes.

He's once again caught the bartender's attention when there's a commotion nearer the entrance, and the same elf he's noticed by Danarius' side appears at his own. It's unnerving, when he hasn't noticed himself being followed, and he can't help but mention this.

"Danarius sent me to ensure your safety," the elf informs him, "the streets of Minrathous are not safe for those without magic."

Sebastian has no response to that. He's not considered that he may be in danger here by the very fact that he's _not_ a mage. Suddenly the city seems large indeed, and his own presence rather insignificant. It's an ugly feeling, and one he's uncomfortably familiar with.

The shot of whisky, and those that follow, provided for him by the surly barman, however, drown any uncomfortable introspection well.

"Tell me," Sebastian begins, before realising that he doesn't even know how to address his taciturn bodyguard.

"Danarius calls me _Fenris_ ," the elf supplies, "you may do so too."

When he speaks his accent is rich, and deep, enough that it sends a shiver through Sebastian. _Maker, what a voice!_ He wants Fenris to keep talking.

"Did you choose to come here, to guard me, or did your master order it?"

"I have no choice in my own actions," Fenris replies, in the same even tone. Sebastian fights the urge to close his eyes and just listen.

"I was curious however," he continues, "you are unlike any man I have met."

Sebastian frowns; he has learnt that such a comment is not universally positive, despite his own instincts. "How so?" he asks.

"You are quite clearly a Lord," Fenris explains, "and yet you confuse the slaves by addressing them as you would a free man. You show no fear, though I am nothing but a weapon, and would kill you should my Master give the order. And you speak of freedom and choice as though they are concepts with which everyone should be familiar, despite knowing that many of us are not."

Little of this filters through the haze of inebriation settling over Sebastian's brain however, and Fenris shakes his head.

"Perhaps I might repeat this once you are sober."

When he wakes up, in the bed Danarius has allocated to him, Sebastian remembers little other than Fenris' voice.

\--*--

By the end of their first week Sebastian's initial hatred of Minrathous has waned. The bars serve fine liquor, and Fenris, though largely uncommunicative, is attractive enough a companion. Whatever his parents' plans they have had little impact on his lifestyle as yet.

It takes seconds to shatter his happy illusion, and bring him to reality with a start.

_"She's a bonny lass,"_ his mother says, _"and Sebastian is a good lad. Perhaps he will choose her himself."_

_"We can't take any chances,"_ his father responds, _"and you can't coddle the boy forever. An alliance with the Archon now would guarantee Starkhaven's future."_

Sebastian stops in his tracks outside his parents' quarters. He had expected something of this sort, honestly, though the reality is infinitely less attractive now.

He's had enough practice through the week in leaving the mansion unnoticed, and right now, a crowded bar is preferable to any conversation he might manage with his parents.

His father's whisky has provided a decent start tonight, and Sebastian is already merry before he reaches the tavern of his choice.

Of course when he arrives Fenris is there too.

He can feel Fenris' eyes on him through the night, though perhaps it is just the liquor. Sebastian can't quite tell.

"It's been a long time since someone so pretty watched me so well."

A lie, of course, Sebastian has been involved with his fair share of _pretty_ people, elves and humans both, but there's still something about this elf which catches his attention like no other.

Perhaps it is the fine balance of power and submission, each a heady concept in its own right.

Fenris does not respond, though Sebastian notices small spots of colour bloom on his cheeks.

Perhaps this endeavour might be worthwhile after all.

\--*--

The tavern has a room, or what passes for one. There is a bed, at least, and Sebastian is in no mood to critique the decor anyway. _Clean_ is all he asks right now.

Fenris does not follow him, instead stopping to linger in the doorway. When Sebastian motions for him to enter he does so slowly, approaching Sebastian with obvious unease.

He's gentler than he would usually be with Fenris' armour, partly because of the razor-sharp edges to his pauldrons and gauntlets, though mostly because of the trepidation in his partner's eyes. This is not how it was supposed to work.

"May I?" he asks softly, half-afraid he'll startle the elf who is suddenly so uncharacteristically pliant.

Fenris appears to consider the question thoroughly before replying, his brow furrowed in concentration; "...yes."

Though Fenris starts once more when Sebastian moves to remove his leggings.

"Forgive me," he offers, "this is new to me."

Sebastian hesitates at that; obvious though it should have been, he had not considered the possibility that Fenris had no experience in such matters.

"Do you want to?" he asks finally, "with me?"

Again, a moment's hesitation, but Fenris responds positively once more.

With permission now, he guides Fenris towards the bed, noting the hitch in the elf's breathing as he's finally fully exposed.

"Maker, you're beautiful!"

It is no lie this time; Fenris truly is beautiful like this: The lyrium lines in his skin pulse a faint, white light and his eyelids flicker, as though he's fighting to keep them open, while he watches Sebastian from atop the narrow bed.

Sebastian isn't prepared, but the tavern-keeper evidently understands well enough what function this room serves for his clientele, as there is a small flask of oil on a sorry-looking table at the foot of the bed.

Fenris tenses at the first oil-slick touch of Sebastian's fingers, but relaxes with a low moan when Sebastian leans forward to fit his lips around the elf's erection. Sebastian _hums_ , a trick learned from several previous partners, and Fenris' hips buck, forcing him deeper into Sebastian's throat.

It's easy to feel Fenris' arousal like this, to keep him on the edge of completion with swirls of his tongue and strokes of his fingers, but eventually even Fenris' iron reserve cracks.

"More," he chokes, in between throaty moans which travel straight to Sebastian's cock, "please, I need-"

Sebastian can't hold back an answering moan as he complies, and all too soon Sebastian is right there on the edge along with Fenris; too close to prolong anything further for either of them.

The remainder of the night passes in a blur, heady kisses and mutual pleasure. Fenris is a delightful partner; responsive and a quick learner, with little shame.

Sebastian thinks he would happily remain here, in this seedy backstreet tavern forever if it means even another single night like this one.

\--*--

The following morning, however, he awakes once more to the decadence of his bed in Danarius' mansion, with Fenris nowhere in sight.

"Mother-"

" _Hush_ , Sebastian," his mother chides, while her hands absent-mindedly straighten his jacket, "Maker, look at you! Anyone would think you couldn't dress yourself lad."

_Almost right_ , Sebastian thinks; though the truth is he merely hasn't bothered with his appearance this morning, too concerned with keeping the harsh Minrathous sunlight from his tender eyes.

"Enough of this nonsense," Danarius snarls from behind them, "how did you enjoy my little wolf, boy?"

Fenris stands beside him, now cowed and silent once more in the face of the Magister's wrath. His gaze is firmly fixed on the marble floor of the great hallway, and white hair obscures his face so Sebastian cannot read his expression.

_His hair was soft_ , Sebastian's brain supplies, _and Fenris practically purred when Sebastian ran his fingers through it._

The flush of arousal takes him by surprise with its intensity, enough to provoke a gasp that he hasn't intended to let slip.

Sebastian sees the exact moment that his parents realise what has happened; sees the shock on his mother's face, and his father's rage. Danarius glowers at him, and Fenris seems to shrink into himself once more, no longer the beautiful wanton creature of the previous night.

Sebastian's decision is spurred by that memory alone.

"Come with me Fenris. You could be free." He's pleading, he knows, and it's unbecoming of _anyone_ let alone the son of a prince, but he can't help himself.

Fenris glances at him, but does not meet his eyes. When he next speaks his voice is blank, empty of any emotion;

"My place is here."

The tone allows for no argument, no debate.

When Sebastian chances a look around the room, his mother is weeping, and his father tight-lipped with fury.

"My apologies Danarius," his father snaps, "and please convey them to the Archon, too. It appears I have pressing matters to resolve closer to home before we seek an alliance."

When they arrive in Starkhaven Sebastian does not protest his father's decision to devote him to the chantry.

\--*--

Danarius smiles as he watches the Vael family leave.

"You have done well, my little wolf," he says, "a house divided cannot stand for long."

Fenris says nothing; he knows better than to believe his master's congratulations are truly for him.

Later that night, however, once his master has retired for the night, Fenris remembers the young lord he refused, remembers talented fingers and skin pale against his own. He remembers whispered words of lust, promises which could never be kept, and wonders, for the first time, exactly what _freedom_ would taste like.


End file.
